


An American in Paris

by owlmoose



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Art appreciation, Gen, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Remix, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/pseuds/owlmoose
Summary: Tony and Pepper take Steve on his first trip to Paris.





	An American in Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Our Endless Numbered Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/453500) by [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin). 



> Written for Remix Revival, inspired by a scene in "Our Endless Numbered Days" by azepherin.

Whenever Steve had some down time in New York, he made it a point to spend at least a few hours revisiting his roots. Sometimes he would ride the subway out to Brooklyn, or take a leisurely stroll across the bridge; if the Mets were in town he might head over to Queens for a game; or if he felt more like sticking to Manhattan, he'd wander through a museum or some shops. Today was a shopping day, and he started with his usual bookstore haunt: the Taschen store, down in SoHo. Its gleaming wood floors and shelves were slicker and more upscale than his memories of the ramshackle used bookstores that once filled the neighborhood; a few shops like that were still around, and Steve sometimes browsed them, but picking up shiny new art monographs at Taschen felt more authentic to the gentrified area that SoHo had become. Sometimes it was okay to change with the times.

The covers were a riot of color against the plain bookcases as Steve scanned for new titles; his eyes fell on a Chagall monograph, and he picked it up with a smile. He remembered the first time he'd ever seen Chagall's work, an exhibition shortly before the artist came to America to flee the war. Chagall wasn't an artist Steve had studied in school -- it was basically dumb luck that he'd even stumbled in, to be thoroughly transported by colors and shapes and a totally new way of looking at the world. He hadn't thought about that exhibition in a long time, but pulling the book off the shelf and flipping through the pages brought him immediately back to those days, of fear and desperation to do something, anything, to fight against the evil that was growing in the world. Of loving art, believing in art, but knowing that art alone wouldn't be enough. Three months later, he'd been at Camp Lehigh, while Chagall remained here, exiled from the bright lights of Paris and everything else he'd called home.

"Well," Steve said to the book, "at least you can come home with me." He closed the book and tucked it under his arm, heading for the sales counter.

-x-

"Ooh, Daddy went shopping!"

Tony, who had been heading down the stairs as Steve was on his way up, stopped abruptly, a look of delight spreading on his face. Without a word, Steve handed him the bag from Chelsea Market; Tony took a whiff of the fresh loaf of bread sticking out of the top, then let out a happy sigh. "You know, we could have just ordered delivery."

"I know," Steve said. "But I'd rather go myself, you know that. Makes me feel like a real person."

"Yeah, whatever," Tony replied. "Or maybe you like it when the sales clerks try to flirt with you."

Steve did not dignify the comment with a response, simply pushing the door to his suite open, holding it for Tony to go through first. Tony set the food on the kitchen counter; meanwhile Steve put his two bags -- one of books, one of art supplies -- on the coffee table, and pulled out the Chagall monograph.

Tony came up beside him, watched for a moment as Steve flipped through the pages. Paintings, sketches, a few brief paragraphs on vision and process. Not too much of the latter, fortunately. Steve preferred books that simply presented the art and let the viewer draw their own conclusions. "I saw some of his work in an exhibition a couple of years--" Steve caught himself, took a quick breath. No, 1941 was not a couple of years ago. Someday, he would stop making that mistake. "I mean, before. When he was still living in Paris." Steve turned another page, revealing sketches for the earlier Bible illustrations. "So not many people in the U.S. aside from other artists had heard of him yet. I hadn’t—I just read a review of it in the paper and thought it sounded interesting and went to check it out." He turned another page, and now it was a riot of color and shapes, the better-known Cubist works. "It was…I had never seen anything like it before. Nobody else did anything like that." 

"Mmm." Tony sat on the sofa, and Steve followed, the two of them looking through the book in silence, until they reached a series of mural reproductions. "You been to the Met yet? The opera house, not the museum," he quickly added, as Steve shot him a look of confusion -- the Metropolitan Museum of Art was one of his most common destinations.

"Ah." Steve closed the book and set it on the coffee table, next to a catalog from a recent Lee Krasner retrospective. "Not yet. Opera's not really my thing. Too much singing, not enough... everything else."

Tony chuckled. "Pepper might challenge you to a duel if she heard you say that. But yeah. I'm with you there, for the most part. Still, you should check out the Met." He stood up. "Tomorrow, after dinner, barring unforeseen interruptions by aliens and/or evil. It’s best at night." He walked toward the door, then paused, turning around. "We'll hit the Paris opera, too, but let's save that for fall. Maybe September or October."

Steve cocked his head to the side, and Tony smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll like it."

Steve responded with a slow nod. "I'm taking your word on this."

"Good." With another quick grin, Tony closed the door behind him, leaving Steve alone with the book and several unanswered questions.

-x-

"So you've really never been to Paris?" Tony leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. "Even though you basically lived in Europe for two years?"

"I was a little busy at the time," Steve pointed out. "Not to mention the part where the city was occupied by Nazis." 

Tony waved off the objection. "Details, details."

Pepper, who was sitting next to Tony, cast him one of her looks; he had the grace to look a little embarrassed. Then she turned back to Steve. "Don't pay any attention to him."

Steve grinned a little. "I rarely do."

Pepper chuckled, then smiled back. "Well, I think it's exciting -- showing you Paris for the first time. We'll go to the Opera Garnier, and of course the Louve, and I've blocked out a whole day for the Musee D'Orsay -- the impressionist museum, and one of my favorite places in the world."

"I can't wait," Steve said, and meant it. Spending a long weekend with Tony might not have been first on his list, but Pepper was a delightful companion, especially for museum visits: knowledgable, opinionated, always down to debate the finer points of an artist or artwork. And Tony had been right about the Metropolitan Opera House -- Steve treasured the memory of that evening, stepping out of the humid August of New York City and into the cool, elegant spaces of Lincoln Center, drinking in not just the Chagall murals but the private tour Pepper had arranged to show him all the artwork. So he trusted Tony's judgement that the Paris opera house would be worth the trip.

Besides, it was Paris, city of every artists' dreams. Steve looked out the window of Tony's private jet -- unlike their first museum jaunt, to Amsterdam, Tony was using his own equipment this time rather than commandeering a SHIELD QuinJet -- to contemplate the Atlantic Ocean beneath. Steve had to admit that Amsterdam had been a hell of a trip, more than worth the chewing out that Director Fury had given them. He'd spent half an hour in the room with Rembrandt's "The Night Watch" alone -- those folks at the Rijksmuseum sure knew how to set the scene for a masterpiece -- and had a hard time believing that anything in Paris would top it. Then again, there were so many masterworks in Paris. He felt like a kid, waiting outside the candy store for it to open, but today he had way more than a nickel in his pocket.

"Steve?" Pepper's voice interrupted his reverie; he turned to look at her. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"Sure," he said. "When will we be landing?"

"Shortly before lunch," she replied. Steve shook his head at the thought of a three-hour transatlantic flight, and Pepper chuckled. "The rich are different from you and me," she said, and Steve shook his head at the Fitzgerald quote, and the irony of it coming from Pepper. "C'mon, I'll have the chef make you something hearty."

-x-

The cathedral bells were just ringing noon as Steve stepped out of the hired car and onto the sidewalks of Paris.

He had spent most of the drive from the airport plastered to the window, not caring that he looked like an idiot as he stared at the buildings, the skyline, the Eiffel Tower drawing closer and closer, and then suddenly they were whipping around the Arc de Triumphe, passing elegant stores and manicured parks and so many sidewalk cafes crammed full of tables and fashionable people. The car had dropped them off in front of a small park, Pepper getting out right after him, then sped off with Tony still inside.

"Where's he going?" Steve asked as the town car took a left turn and entered the flow of traffic.

"He's going to meet us at the opera house," Pepper said. "But I thought you might like to walk around a bit first, take in the sights." She tugged on his elbow and got him to face the other direction, toward a stone cathedral on the other side of the street, with two rectangular towers and a delicate spire, and....

"Is that--" Steve found he was speaking in a hushed tone, and he cleared his throat. "Is that Notre Dame?"

"It is indeed." Pepper patted his arm, then pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Would you like a closer look?"

"Yes," he breathed, and as they walked down the sidewalk together, Steve could barely feel the ground beneath his feet.

-x-

Almost an hour passed before Steve walked out of the cathedral, staggering under the weight of its beauty. Normally he was more interested in paintings than in architecture or other monumental works of art, but there was just so much to take in at Notre Dame: its age, its reverence, the stained glass. He could have stood in the center of the nave and watched rose-and-orange light play across gray stone all day. He paused in the courtyard to take another look back.

Next to him, Pepper cleared her throat, and he started; he had almost forgotten she was there. "So, you liked it?"

"Yeah." He glanced down at her, then back up at the graceful stone towers. "I guess you could say that." Then he took a quick look at his watch and winced. "Wow, I had no idea we'd been in there so long."

"It's a place out of time," Pepper said. "I'm not surprised."

"Still, I'm sorry we left Tony waiting."

Pepper shrugged. "I'm sure he found plenty to keep him occupied," she said. "But we should probably head toward the opera -- we have a lunch reservation in the neighborhood."

Steve looked across the bridge and into town. "Do we still have time to walk?"

Pepper pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times. Steve really needed to get one of those for himself. "It's about 45 minutes," she said, "20 minutes by train. We could call for a car, or..."

Steve shook his head. "I like this being a tourist on foot thing. If, if you don't mind," he added -- he was their guest, maybe he wasn't being gracious enough.

Pepper laughed. "Of course I don't mind," she said. "Your expression for the last hour alone has been worth the trip." She hooked her hand through his elbow. "We can have lunch any time. You'll only get to see Paris for the first time once."

"Thanks." They stopped at a light, and Steve took another chance to look around. "I suppose it looks a lot different now than if I'd seen it for the first time in 1943."

"Probably," Pepper agreed. "Although maybe not that different, since the French surrendered in part to keep Hitler from destroying Paris as he had so many other cities."

"Yeah. I can understand making that choice, although I don't know if it's the choice I would've made in their place." Steve took a slow turn around and soaked in the landscape: the Seine winding by, stone bridges above that linked the narrow streets, leading to over a thousand years of buildings nestled together. "Still, Paris belonged to the Germans for so long. Imagine how awful it would feel to see a Nazi flag hanging from, say, there." Steve pointed across the river to a long, low building with a blue roof. 

Pepper smiled. "Especially since that building is the Louvre."

Steve almost jumped. "It's... can we go there? No, no. Sorry, that's okay, you have a plan. We can go later."

"We will," Pepper promised. "But, yes. I see your point. I don't know much about Paris during the occupation, but I can't imagine it was a pleasant place to visit. Or live."

"So many were driven away," Steve said. "Chagall, for one."

Pepper nodded. "But he was able to return eventually, and now he'll live here forever, as long as the opera house stands."

Steve glanced back at Notre Dame, its graceful architecture and glass windows, and then looked down the river at the Eiffel Tower. Gustave Eiffel's name would live on for untold generations; no one knew the name of the artisans who created the cathedral, but their mark was undeniable. "Living on through art," he said. "That's a pretty good legacy."

"Better than a lot of us get," Pepper agreed. 

The two of them started walking again, blending into the crowd of Parisians strolling along their way, the sounds of chatter filling the air. Steve knew enough French to get the gist of most things, and he soaked in the everyday conversation that surrounded him as they stopped at a corner with a light turned red. "This is what we fought for," he said. "A whole city of people getting to live their ordinary lives without fear, and a world for the rest of us to travel and discover." He glanced at Pepper. "When I was an art student, I dreamed of coming here. But maybe I'm glad that I'm seeing it now, instead."

"I'm glad it was here for you to see." The light changed and they started across the street; and Steve stopped talking and started looking, noting every facade and roofline, the towers of Notre Dame fading into the skyline behind them as they walked toward the opera house.


End file.
